


Lovesong

by Estie



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Humor, Roleplay, The Cure (Band) References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26607460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estie/pseuds/Estie
Summary: Strike invites Becca (Bobbi) Cunliffe out to see tribute band, Re-Cure
Relationships: Cormoran Strike & Becca Cunliffe, Robin Ellacott & Cormoran Strike
Comments: 12
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

Strike sat in his office, drumming his fingers and thinking. He glanced up and looked at his business partner, Robin, who was still thin and pale, three months after leaving Matthew and six weeks after moving into her new flat.

Like Strike, Robin subsumed her personal unhappiness into work. She was polite, professional, productive and, as always, the perfect colleague. Strike knew from Ilsa that that Robin’s ex-husband (who he always thought of as ‘that arsehole’) was being difficult and recalcitrant over the divorce. He tried to remember the last time he had seen Robin smile.

“Oi, Robin!” Strike called out. “Remember that woman, Becca Cunliffe, who came into the office during the Chiswell case?”

Robin glanced up sharply. “Yes,” she replied cautiously, wondering what Strike was playing at..

Strike grinned. “The tribute band, Re-Cure, are playing at the Crimson Coconut, Friday night. Wondered if she’d like to come and see them with me? Or, of course, if you’d rather come…”

Robin raised an eyebrow. “I think Re-Cure might be more Becca’s scene than mine,” she said slowly. “She’d also need time to get changed after work.” A small smile began to play on her lips.

“That’s settled,” said Strike firmly. “I’m thinking we could shut up the office at lunchtime on Friday. We’re between clients. Barclay is trailing Shifty and Hutchinson is doing the paperwork from home.”

Robin nodded. An MS flare up had left Hutchinson exhausted and home bound but he was putting in a few hours a day on the agency’s administration.

“I’m meeting a possible new contractor in the afternoon – if he seems any good, I’ll team up a time for the three of us to meet. You can take a few of the thousands of hours I owe you as time in lieu - God knows you deserve a break. Becca can meet me back here at 7:30pm and we’ll grab dinner before pushing onto the Crimson Coconut. What do you think?”

Robin nodded, a wide smile now across her face. “I think that sounds like an excellent plan.”

__________________

Strike’s mouth fell open as he watched Becca stroll up the street towards him. Robin had decided to go for an even punkier version: Black knee-high boots covered with buckles, ripped fishnet stockings, a ridiculously short tight black skirt covered with zips, black bandeau top and ripped black denim jacket. A multitude of chains and padlocks (all purchased from the local hardware store) connected a studded neck collar, chain belt, and the boots. Robin had painted her face white and was wearing black nail polish, lipstick and eyeliner. Numerous silver rings adorned her ears, eyebrow, nose and lips. Her usual red-gold hair was now black with purple and blue streaks.

He thought he was prepared for anything but Robin – no Becca – in the skirt… with those chains… and those boots…

Robin, looking at his expression, suddenly lost her nerve. “Too much?” she asked, her cheeks flaming beneath the white makeup.

‘No,” breathed Strike. “Never too much. That’s good. That’s great.”

He couldn’t take his eyes off the zips on her skirt.

“Oi! Eyes up mate!” Becca snapped.

It was Strike’s turn to flush.

“Indian OK for dinner?” he asked.

“Whatever, as long as you are paying mate. Me boss keeps me skint.”

__________________

“Tell me more about your boss,” Strike said as they took their seats at the restaurant. Becca shrugged.

“He’s alright. Bit of a grumpy bastard. But he treats me with respect which is more than most men manage to do. The work’s interesting too, even if the hours are long and the pay is shite.”

Strike grinned. “Sounds like it suits you,” he said. “Can I get you a wine?”

“Beer thanks,” said Becca, pushing aside the menu. “It’s Robin who likes wine. I’ll have the Samosa and Rongi too.”

__________________

Becca strolled ahead of Strike into the Crimson Coconut, giving him a good view of her delectable legs and arse. He had always deliberately supressed any carnal feelings for Robin but felt freer to indulge in ogling Becca. They took a table towards the back which gave them some privacy but still a good view of the stage. A dance floor was illuminated with red light while Robin’s white makeup glowed an eerie purple in the dim.

“I think we’re bringing down the average age here to about 40,” Becca said, glancing around at the other patrons.

Strike snorted. “I’m not that far off 40 myself, you young whippersnapper!”

The band opened with Close to Me. Robin swayed, happily singing along:

_I've waited hours for this_ _  
I've made myself so sick  
I wish I'd stayed asleep today  
I never thought this day would end  
I never thought tonight could ever be  
This close to me._

A group of women were already on the dance floor. Strike spotted Becca eying them.

“Go ahead and dance if you want,” he said. “I’m happy just watching.”

Becca, remembering how Strike had eyed her up and down, snorted with laughter. “I know you are!” Nonetheless, she got up and headed straight to the dance floor. Strike watched her fondly.

 _How happy she looks_ , he thought, pleased she had agreed to come and pleased she seemed to be enjoying herself playing Becca.

Three songs later, Becca came back to the table, sweat pouring down her smiling face. She leaned over Strike, shoving her chest in his face as she grabbed his beer.

“Sorry,” she gasped, downing it in one shot. “Fuck, I’m hot! I forgot I’m not 19 anymore,” She shucked her jacket off, untangling the chains and leaned back in her chair, panting, eyes closed. Strike was too enamoured of her appearance to even resent that she’d just scoffed his beer.

“I’ll get us a refill, then?” he managed. Becca nodded. “Can ya get us a jug of water too?” she asked. “Otherwise I’m going to be so pissed I’ll jump ya.”

Strike’s breath hitched. Squashing down his totally natural but inconvenient response to a beautiful, skimpily dressed woman he happened to like very much, who was panting and saying that she wanted to jump him, he headed to the bar for two more pints and a jug of water.

“You look amazing,” he said, pushing a glass of water towards her.

“I know,” said Becca, downing the water. “I saw you checking me out. You look pretty hot yourself all in black.”

Strike tried to remember how much Robin – no, Becca – had drunk that night. She smiled at him.

“I’m not pissed yet,” she said. “Just high from all the dancing. But I’ll sit this one out.” She sat their dreamily, murmuring along to Just Like Heaven.

Push came on and Becca rose from the table. “I HAVE to dance this one,” she declared. Strike raised his beer towards her. “Go along,” he said. “I’ll enjoy the view,” he added cheekily.

Becca gave him an outrageous wink.

The dance floor was more crowded now. A few men were standing around the outside, eying up the women as they sang as a group:

_Go go go_ _  
Push him away  
No no no  
Don't let him stay._

One man, bolder than the rest and clearly no listening to the lyrics, came up behind Becca and grabbed her buttocks. She swung around furiously, elbow raised and hitting him in the nose. “Oi! Hands off!”

Strike, who had witnessed the who interchange, was hurrying towards the dance floor.

“You fucking bitch!” the man was saying but Becca stood her ground. “What? Ya don’t like being touched without permission? Well neither do I! Fuck off and stopped ruining it for those of us who are here for tha music, not ta be groped.”

A couple of black clad bouncers led the man away from Becca who was now shaking with fury. She looked up and saw Strike watching her, clearly concerned and ready to step in but also giving her the space she needed. She took a deep breath.

“Fucking men,” she gasped and then, inexplicably to Strike, strode up to him and grabbed him around the waist and placed his hands on her buttocks. “I decide who I want to grope my arse.”

Strike steered Becca back to their table and poured her another glass of water. “Shit!” she said. “My makeup is all over ya shirt now.”

Strike glanced down at the black smudges on his chest and shrugged. “I’ll cope. It’ll wash off. Do you want to leave now?”

“I’m not having our night ruined by a groping twat. Why should we be pushed out? Mind if we just sit here for a bit?”

Strike most certainly did not mind, especially as Becca was now leaning against his shoulder, clearly comfortable. Her eyes were closed as she sang along with the band:

_Whenever I'm alone with you_ _  
You make me feel like I am home again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am whole again_

She opened her eyes and, seeing Strike look at her, gave him a kiss on the cheek. The song continued:

_Whenever I'm alone with you_ _  
You make me feel like I am young again  
Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am fun again_

“What’s this song called?” asked Strike, feeling that the lyrics just summed up the feelings he hard for his work partner.

Becca blushed under her makeup. “Lovesong,” she muttered.

_However far away  
I will always love you  
However long I stay  
I will always love you  
Whatever words I say  
I will always love you  
I will always love you_

“It’s true,” Strike thought, holding Becca tight.

_Whenever I'm alone with you  
You make me feel like I am free again…_

He wasn’t sure who had moved first but somehow he was now kissing her, first gently and then more passionately as she responded to his lips. Becca’s hands moved to his chest.

“I’m ready to leave now,” she murmured.

Outside, they stood in a doorway, snogging like teenagers. “Should we take this back to your place or mine?” Becca asked.

Strike took a deep breath and reluctantly pulled himself away.

“Fuck. This has been a wonderful evening. There’s nothing I’d like to do more than continue it. But I’ve got to be able to look my work partner in the eye on Monday.”

“I’m sure Robin would understand,” murmured Becca.

“Hmph!” said Strike. “Becca, you are a lovely girl. I’ve had a lot of fun. But if things continue this way, it needs to be with Robin.”

Robin stared at him, looking through Becca’s makeup. “Do you mean that?” she asked.

“Course Robin. You’re my best friend. You’re my partner. I like Becca; I like all your characters. But I can only continue this way if I know it is you.”

Robin smiled at him; a true Robin smile through the black lipstick and lip ring.

“So, how do you feel like going out with Robin tomorrow night?” she asked.


	2. Chapter 2

Robin’s phone beeped as she made herself breakfast.

_Last night was fun. Still on for tonight? X Strike_

Robin blushed, remembering how she and Strike had ended the night snogging outside the Crimson Coconut. What the fuck had she been thinking suggesting they go back to her place? And had she really grabbed Strike and said she wanted him to grope her arse?

 _“I need to be able to look my work partner in the eye on Monday,”_ Strike had said.

Robin totally got that. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to look Strike in the eye after last night.

But then Strike had added, “ _If things continue this way, it needs to be with Robin.”_

That suggested, didn’t it, that he did want things to continue? And if they did, what would that mean for the agency? What would Barclay and Hutchens think? What would her mother think? As for Matthew – well he’d just take it as confirmation of what he believed all along; that Robin had been having an affair with Strike and he had been totally justified in sleeping with Sarah –

Lights started to swirl in front of Robin’s eyes, and she sunk down into a chair, breathing rapidly. Shit! Determinedly she focussed her mind on her breathing and on the CBT exercises she had been practicing far more regularly since her meltdown during Geraint Winn’s phone call.

She had to reply to Strike.

_Sure. Gino’s at 7:30? I’ll pay since you covered last night._

Bing! Strike must have been sitting on his phone.

_Gino’s is fine. I’ll pay – someone told me that your boss kept you skint._

Robin buried her face in her hands. What the fuck had she been thinking saying that to Strike?

______________________

At 7:30pm, Robin was walking up the street towards Gino’s, planning on buying a drink to steady her nerves. Strike was notorious for arriving late to any non-work appointment. She was therefore surprised to see him huddled outside the restaurant, puffing on his ubiquitous cigarette. He took a final puff and stubbed it out before greeting Robin with a kiss on her cheek.

“Mind if we eat out in the beer garden? They have gas heaters blasting away.”  
  
Robin nodded, suddenly shy. They followed a waiter to their table and ordered drinks – a Doom Bar for Strike and a house white for Robin.

“So, it’s definitely Robin I’m sitting with tonight. Good,” Strike said.

Robin put a hand to her face.

“I like Becca,” Strike hastened to reassure her. “But you get so into your characters, I don’t want you to get carried away and do anything you regret. Especially not with me.”

Robin looked up, cheeks flaring. “Is that what you think happened last night?”

Strike looked directly at her. “You tell me.”

Robin flushed again and twisted the wine glass in her hand.

“I might have got a bit carried away,” she admitted. “But it’s not like I was pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s more that as Becca I can do things I wouldn’t do as Robin.”

Strike wondered if this included kissing him passionately.

“I normally wouldn’t wear that kind of makeup or fishnets or the chains,” Robin said. Strike noticed that tonight Robin was wearing a flattering but conservative navy-blue dress and tiny silver earrings.

“And,” she gulped, “I normally wouldn’t have kissed you.”

Strike’s face was inscrutable.

“Even if I wanted to,” Robin added. “But as Becca, I could. I knew I could trust you and that you would never push me to go any further than I wanted to.”

“And I wanted too,” Robin admitted in a rush. “And I was right, I could trust you. You stopped things before they got out of hand.”

Robin’s face was scarlet. Strike took a sip of his beer.

The waiter reappeared and both Strike and Robin ordered randomly from the menu. Robin selected the grilled barramundi while Strike opted for a medium well-done steak.

“And chips,” Strike called out after the retreating waiter. “And a refill on the drinks.”

“So, what now?” Robin asked. “Have I fucked things up completely?”

Strike snorted. “That you could never do.”

He reached out and grasped Robin’s hands.

“I like you very much,” he began.

“But not in that way, I get it,” Robin said hurriedly, squishing down feelings of hurt and rejection.

“Let me finish, Ellacott.”

“As I was saying, I like you very much. And you have no idea how tempted I was last night; how much I just wanted to take you up to my flat and continue things there, as you put it.”

“But,” added Strike. “I like you so much, that I can’t risk destroying everything we have, not just the business but our friendship, if you are just on the rebound. If we ever go that way, it will have to be with the intent of it being forever.”

And suddenly Strike burst out laughing. Robin looked at him, deeply offended.

“And that, of course, could never happen,” she said coldly.

“No, Robin, no. Fuck, you don’t get it.” Strike tried to compose himself. “All my life, I have avoided commitments.”

Robin suddenly recalled the text from Lorelai that Strike didn’t know she had seen.

“But I can’t imagine my life without you in it. I don’t want to get into a relationship with you because I don’t want to fuck it up because I always fuck it up. I would rather have your friendship for life even if it means I never have sex again.”

Robin picked at the bread roll on her side plate, thinking about what Strike had said. Was he right? Was she just on the rebound? And did he just say he'd rather forgo sex than lose her friendship?

“It’s only been three months since I split up with Matthew,” Robin said slowly. “We’re not even divorced. He’s being a bit difficult. If I start another relationship it might complicate things further. And you are right. We need to think about the impact on the business. That’s more important than any personal feelings.”

_So why do I feel like crying as I say this?_

“I just need to know that we are okay,” she finished.

Strike reached out to Robin and brushed a tear that was rolling down her cheek.

“I can’t imagine life without you in it,” Strike said gently. “Of course we are okay.”

He hesitated before adding: “And after things are more settled, if you are really sure this is what you want, we might decide to expand the parameters of our partnership.”

Because fuck it, this was what he really wanted.

Strike lifted Robin’s hand and pressed his lips against it. Robin grinned crookedly and raised her glass.

“To partnerships,’ she said. “And best friends.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so they didn't actually get together in the end; it's more they made a commitment to do this further down the track. Which is more canon, I think. And plays to my writing strengths which do not include smut.
> 
> And, yeah, sorry about all the four-lettered words American readers but that's just how Strike talks.

**Author's Note:**

> I originally intended this to be a one-shot but suspect I will now have to do Robin's date with Strike.
> 
> The Crimson Coconut is the actual name of a over-40s nightclub in suburban Melbourne that hosts many 80s tribute bands. I have often been tempted but have never made it there.


End file.
